In my experience of Dutch winters, the majority of our snow (which, to be honest, is not even that much) comes in February and March.  Thus true to form, here in the second week of February, we just experienced our first real snow accumulation of the year.

All through the day yesterday, the snow fell in a never-ending cascade of puffy-white flakes -- like goosefeathers in a pillowfight.  By the afternoon, the city was covered in a soft blanket of snow... It was magnificent.

I should note that snow in Amsterdam is not exactly like snow in the American Midwest (the stuff that I grew up with).  Even in the first moments after a heavy snowfall, there is not much of a "pure" quality to the snow, and the classic "field of virgin snow" is nary to be found.  Regardless of the time of day, regardless of the intensity of the storm, any accumulated snow is immediately and relentlessly tracked and trampled.  Or, if there just so happens to be an untracked area of snow, it can be safely assumed that it's generally for a good reason -- pocked, more than likely, by piles of canine excrement waiting like small brown land-mines under the paper-thin layer of snow crystals.  City grit finds its way onto and into the wet whiteness.  Even the snow on top of parked cars is scraped off to form ammunition for neighborhood snowball fights.  And, it should be noted, even in the "depth" of the Dutch winter, it can be almost guaranteed that the snow will not stick around for very long.

Even so, there's something magical about the urban snowscape.  Good clean snow can be found -- if you know the right places to look (like alongside the train tracks, as in the picture above).  The temporal nature of the snow makes for a frenzied, ecstatic quality to the scene.  And there is no shortage of people around with whom snowball fights can be initiated or who can admire a good snowman together.  The city and the neighborhood come together during such moments.  So, of course, after school let out yesterday afternoon -- me and the kids bundled up and headed out to enjoy the winter paradise.

It was more fun this year -- as compared to winters past -- because Elliot and Olivia are at ages where they can more fully appreciate the joys of playing in the snow.  We marveled at the skeletal trees together and observed the way that snow packed together.  We engaged in a couple of good-natured snowball fights with the Morroccan kids who live on the nearby Hertzogstraat.  And, of course, we made a snowman.

Both Elliot and Olivia loved the process of creation -- helping to pack on a little bit of snow here, a little bit there... hunting for rocks to use for eyes, sticks to use for arms.  But even this enthusiasm has it's limitations.  After a short while, little Olivia caved in to the coldness and opted to join the ladies (Marci, Jen, and Maria) inside to watch me and Elliot complete our snow project.

Elliot was so proud of his sneeuwpop (snowman).  I think they've recently been talking about traditional Dutch winter activities (skating, making snowmen, eating erwtensoep) at school, thus such actualization was intensely gratifying for him.  Passers-by frequently stopped to admire and compliment us on our relatively "large" snowman (and, truth be told, we had to gather snow from quite a wide region in order to get such a volume of building materials) -- so Elliot-the-performer was truly basking in his element.

Before we retired to our hot chocolate inside the house, we made not only a snow-man -- but also a snow-baby to accompany him.  In order to accomplish this, we had to head back over toward the Hertzogstraat to get enough snow to make the baby.  The Morroccan kids wanted us to let the snow-baby stay with them... But we felt this child needed to be with his father -- so we brought him back in front of our house and invited the Hertzogians to visit whenever they wanted.  A couple of twigs for arms, pieces of a broken brick paver for eyes and a little fez-type hat... And the snow family was complete!

Since Elliot's nearly hypothermic system desperately needed a restroom break, I sent Elliot in to use the facilities while I took a couple of pictures and added some finishing touches like clean snow to cover some of the dirty patches.  When he was finished with his business he joined his sister at the window, and we exchanged thumbs-up signals to indicate a successful conclusion to the process.

A few of the neighborhood boys had been chucking snowballs at me as I finished up, so I delivered a little bit of friendly retribution before politely requesting a cease-fire as I opened the door to our house.  The boys all grinned and expressed the Dutch equivalent of "Aw, man!  Can't you play any longer?"  But I just smiled and told them to have fun.  I genuinely felt a sense of neighborly love and warmth and peace -- which, I'm sorry to say, is actually quite uncommon for our neighborhood -- and I was so glad that we'd all had the opportunity to bond over some good snow fun.  The neighborhood boys and us.  Us and the neighborhood boys.  It was idyllic.

But turning the key in the lock of our front door, I heard Elliot scream.

I spun around and tried to take in the situation.  But it just didn't register.  Going back to the front window, I asked Marci what was wrong with Elliot.  She pointed at the snowmen and mouthed the words, "They're - attacking - the - snowman!"  Not getting it, I cast another confused half-glance, and I shrugged back, as if to say:  "Naw... They wouldn't do that.  They're just playing around..."  We've just had a moment.  We've bonded.  They expressed nothing but admiration for the snowman and the snowbaby.  They couldn't possibly be attacking our snowman...

But they were.  As Elliot continued to scream and cry, I looked again -- and indeed it was true.  The boys were laughing and ducking behind parked cars, like guerilla warriors.  The snow-baby was gone.  And the snow-man was decapitated, his head tucked under the arm of one of the older kids... Now, I genuinely believe that they were just caught up in the moment, having fun and enjoying themselves -- their intent was not consciously malicious.  Nonetheless, I was crushed.  And angry.  And not about to let it happen any further.

I called out firmly but not hysterically:  "Boys!  Boys!  Boys!  C'mon!  Hold on a second."  Some of them resisted the hiatus to their snowball warfare, but I singled out the most restless and asked them to look me in the eye.  "What are you doing?"  I asked.  "This is our snowman!  What you're doing is not nice!  We worked really hard to make this snowman.  You can't use him for your snowball fight.  Please... let him be."  So they said they were sorry.  And they gave me back the head.  They watched empathetically as I put the snowman back together (we gave up on the snow-baby as a lost cause).  They helped me find the carrot nose and pebble eyes.  They pledged that they would leave him alone in the future.  And they even brightened when I asked them to be protectors of the snowman for us.  Thus, we ensured his survival for the next several hours at least.  And I was able to salvage my hope and optimism for the neighborhood -- not to mention Elliot's fragile heart that had been wrapped up with the snowman.

As of this morning, though, I'm sure you can guess what has become of our snowman.  I'm sorry to say that he didn't make it through the night.  Of course, it hardly matters anyway.  The rest of the snow is rapidly melting, and by tomorrow it will be nothing but a memory.  I would be lying if I said that Elliot did not shed some tears over the loss of his frosty friend.  And I would be lying if I said that I do not feel disappointment in the human race -- over people who will not consider others in the pursuit of their own pleasures.  But such is life in the big city.

We can always maintain hope for the next snowfall.